


And it goes like this...

by Champagne



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: First Kiss, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor breakdown, post 159
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-22
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-24 20:28:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22363984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Champagne/pseuds/Champagne
Summary: i'm growing out of a phase,it took too long to explain,but right now i'm awake.Jon had expected their first kiss to be a little different than this.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 9
Kudos: 211





	And it goes like this...

**Author's Note:**

> title and summary lyrics from [Themes](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HwY0gkEw6ZU) by hi i'm case, which I listened to gratuitously while writing this.
> 
> huge huge massive gigantic thanks to [osirisjones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smallhorizons/pseuds/smallhorizons) for being an absolutely wonderful beta and helping me polish this, and a big shoutout to the magnus writers discord server for giving me the inspiration to write again.

It’s such a rare moment of introspection that Jon, at first, has no idea what to do with it. He’s used to his personal insights being colored negatively against himself--no use making excuses when he knows full well how awful of a person he is. But this. This is different. It hits him out of nowhere during one of the early days of his and Martin’s tentative hiding.

He’s cleaning their dishes from dinner when he has the sudden, unexplainable thought that--Martin loves him. And Jon is allowed to love him back. He’s done nothing to deserve Martin’s affection, not really, but that, for some reason, somehow, doesn’t matter. Not anymore.

Something about the realization twists in Jon’s chest, but it’s not an unpleasant feeling.

Martin loves him, and he’s _allowed_ to love him back. He’s allowed to want him, his company, his warmth. He’s allowed to have this. It’s such a foreign thought, that he’s allowed to do, to be, to want, something that he hasn’t somehow been manipulated into. Loving Martin is his choice, and that is both an anchor and a promise of freedom.

He joins Martin on the musty couch when he’s done with the dishes, and Martin gives him such a natural, radiant smile that Jon stares and tries to commit it to memory. The blush washing across Martin’s face is equally beautiful, as are his eyes when he looks into them after Martin squeaks out his name.

He had expected their first kiss to be a little different than this, but it feels Right to lean in and gently press his lips against Martin’s. His lips are soft but the skin is rough where he tends to chew, and he’s so warm.

Jon notes that Martin is frozen, a burning statue beneath his mouth, several seconds later, and sharp panic and dread cut through him as he pulls back. Martin’s face is a blank mask of shock, and Jon vaguely wonders if he misunderstood somewhere along the way. Martin said “loved” in the Lonely, but Jon had attributed that to Martin considering himself lost already, with no chance of freedom. A dead man’s last words, so to speak.

Jon feels his panic roil in his stomach and tries very hard not to vomit--but he’s kept buoyed by the surety of his earlier revelation. Martin loves him. Whether or not it is in a romantic capacity anymore is a minor detail in the grand scheme of Jon’s shoddy self image. But he still crossed a line.

Martin remains frozen as Jon gets up and retreats to the bedroom with an apology. He locks the door behind him in a pathetic attempt at separation.

Even with his new understanding, reigning in the panic is difficult. 

His heart beats a painful rhythm in his throat. He tries to count out his breathing while he worries that he’s somehow pushed Martin away with this, that somehow this is the last straw, and it doesn’t entirely help. His chest tightens as he wonders if Martin will want to return to London, the tenuous tie between them snapped because of his spontaneous decision to kiss him, because the last thing Martin needs right now is for Jon to overcomplicate everything because he’s finally realized his own feelings--

\--but the continuously rational and shrewd part of his head calls that ridiculous before it can gain any more momentum. Martin loves him. He swallows his heart and lets the thought brush feather light touches against his panic until it begins to subside.

He resigns himself to waiting for Martin’s proper response, however long that might take. If it happens at all--Jon is not against the idea of pretending the kiss never happened. Even though he knows he’ll dream about it more than once.

It takes only minutes before Martin is knocking on the bedroom door, quietly saying Jon’s name. Jon hadn’t moved away from the door when he initially locked himself in, and presses his forehead against the cold wood, feeling the staccato of Martin’s knuckles vibrate through his skull. He doesn’t know what to say, and he doesn’t want to unlock the door just yet, so he stands there in silence and waits.

“Jon…” Martin sighs. He falls silent, too. They stand there, separated by just a door and unspoken words, for several minutes.

Martin breaks it first, asking, “Are you okay, Jon?”

So--pretending it never happened. Jon takes a deep breath and nods to himself, and unlocks the door. But he doesn’t open it, because that feels like too much. “Yes,” he says quietly.

“Can I come in?”

Jon sighs and moves away from the door. “Yes.”

Martin opens it slowly, and he’s frowning when Jon sees his face. There’s an odd set to his mouth that makes him look stern and that twists something in Jon’s chest, something different than the realization that Martin loves him. It’s a counterweight, a balance to the elation from earlier, and it sits like a rock behind his ribcage.

When Martin looks him in the eye, Jon looks down. That counterweight grows heavier, and he starts wringing his hands together, feeling the rough burn scar beneath his fingertips and focusing on that instead.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Martin asks, in such a way that makes Jon feel ashamed for lying, even if it seems to be what Martin wants from him.

“I’m fine,” he says, because giving a yes or no answer is too definitive, too close to being a lie or the truth, so he settles on ‘vague enough to be both’.

Martin sighs. Jon doesn’t look up to see what his expression is.

They resume their earlier silence, but now something else hangs in the air that makes it difficult for Jon to breathe, and he doesn’t dare try to say anything. Pretending it never happened--even just the thought stings like a deep bruise. But Jon is determined to respect Martin’s wishes.

“Jon.”

Jon hums in acknowledgement.

Martin sighs again. “Jon, look at me.”

Jon makes himself look up, and Martin is frowning in a different way, looking Jon over like he’s searching for an injury.

He blurts out, “I’m sorry,” before he can stop himself.

Martin’s frown deepens, but he says nothing.

Jon feels like he needs to explain himself, apologize more, ask Martin to forget all about it even though he knows that’s what Martin wants anyway--

But then Martin’s hands are on his, stopping the wringing, and Jon’s mind goes blank. He sees Martin grimace but can’t piece together why, and Martin rubs circles into the back of Jon’s hands with his thumbs.

Martin loves him. And Jon loves him back.

He squeezes Martin’s hands, and Martin’s grimace fades into a small, pained smile.

“I’m sorry,” he says again, more controlled. His heart squeezes painfully in his chest at the thought of just how much he has to apologize for, but he settles on just this for now. An apology for kissing him, without warning and without permission.

Martin is looking at Jon’s hands, and he still has that pained smile when he says, “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I-I do.” For so much. But he reigns it in again, and adds, “I didn’t, I shouldn’t have kissed you. It was…” He frowns, because he can only think of positive descriptors even though he knows Martin probably doesn’t feel the same way. “Inappropriate.”

Martin snorts, and Jon flushes, chagrinned.

“No,” Martin says, still not looking him in the eye. He squeezes Jon’s hands. “You don’t.” He brings both up to his face and places feather light kisses against Jon’s knuckles, and for a moment all Jon can think about is Martin’s hands, warm in his, his lips against his skin, and then he finally looks Jon in the eye.

There’s a raw tenderness there, more open than he’s seen in days, and his smile loses the pained edge and brightens. Jon knows he stops breathing for a moment, because Martin looks vaguely worried, but then Jon is smiling back and gasping for air, and he’s crying before he realizes it and Martin pulls him to his chest and holds him there.

He’s scarred, they both are, but Martin is here with him, he’s more or less in one piece, and he loves him. And Jon revels in the certainty that, because it is Martin that loves him, he is worthy of it.


End file.
